


Clint wants some new friends

by Jotun_in_my_mind



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jotun_in_my_mind/pseuds/Jotun_in_my_mind
Summary: Clint is always hurting himself doing stupid stuff.  His friends try to keep him under control but are not always successful.  Fluffy stupidity ensues.  Just a silly story that's been floating around in my head for a while.





	Clint wants some new friends

“I seriously need to find some new friends” Clint muttered in frustration as his broken left leg was splinted and bandaged ready for transport back to the Tower for proper medical attention. “I can’t trust YOU assholes.”   
Nat raised an impeccably groomed eyebrow as she looked down at her fallen friend. “And just who exactly came up with the idea to try jumping the snowmobile over the fence, Clint? It was your idea in the first place and none of us forced you to do it, that’s all on you.”   
“Yeah, but none of you stopped me either” Clint snapped. “I need some real friends who will stop me doing stupid shit like that, at least sometimes.”   
Nat snorted out a laugh “Yeah, right. Last time I looked you were officially big enough and ugly enough to look after yourself, Clint. Suck it up Buttercup.” With a final huff, she strode off to find some hot chocolate inside the mountain chalet.   
Clint turned his head to look up at Bucky, who was standing nearby. “At least she didn’t see us when we stole Steve’s shield and went tobogganing!” Clint stage-whispered conspiratorially.   
Bucky nodded and grinned mischievously. “Just remember that it was YOU who came up with the idea in the first place to steal the shield, Clint, I just came along for the fun of it. You’re just lucky that you missed that elm tree at the bottom of the hill, or you’d have more than a busted leg to worry about.” Bucky reminded him with just a hint of sarcasm.   
“Oh yeah, the shield was my idea too wasn’t it.” Clint shrugged as he was loaded onto a gurney by the Stark Industries Paramedics and wheeled awkwardly through the snow towards the Quinjet. He was so accustomed to broken limbs, stitches and concussion that it was really just another day in the office for him. No big deal. Except that lately, he seemed to have been injuring himself more often during his recreational time than when on missions. Perhaps he was getting clumsy in his old age, or perhaps there had been fewer missions and more playtime lately, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he knew he should slow down before he maimed himself permanently. But there were just so many fun things to do that he couldn’t help himself, and that’s why he needed 24/7 responsible adult supervision.  
CRASH! The wheelchair wasn’t even close to successfully making the tight turn as Clint barrelled down the freight access ramp of Stark Tower at high speed and collided with the concrete wall. Blood dripped from his smashed nose and two of his fingers were bent in new and unusual ways as he lay wrapped in the mangled frame of the wheelchair. Sam ran from his vantage point down the ramp to where Clint lay tangled in the twisted wreckage of his wheelchair and extracted him as gently as possible, then slung him over his shoulder and carried him off to the medical bay. Again. “Told you it wouldn’t make the corner” Sam grunted as he carried Clint.  
“I really thought it might if I leaned into it.” Clint moaned “Maybe next time I should start the leaning a bit earlier.”  
“Really?!” Sam was stunned. “You would really try that madness again after messing yourself up like this? You need serious help, man.” He dumped Clint unceremoniously onto a treatment bed and left him for the medical team to sort out.  
Six weeks later, after numerous near-misses and attempted stunts with the wheelchair, and plenty of stress for the rest of the team, Clint’s leg was released from the restrictive plaster, and he was finally free to climb his beloved trees again. His particular favourite was a large oak on the south side of the Tower, and he scurried straight up into the branches once his plaster was removed. Unfortunately, a lot can happen in six weeks, and a very large and extremely aggressive hive of wasps had moved into Clint’s tree in his absence. Clint did not notice their presence until he brushed his back against their football-shaped hive and immediately felt his skin burning like lava as they attacked in their hundreds. His only option to escape the stinging horde was to take the dreaded Quick Way Down out of the tree. Clint gritted his teeth and jumped, refracturing his newly healed leg and gashing an elbow deeply as he impacted the ground. Steve had seen him plummet to the ground through the window and sighed in resignation, putting down his coffee and walking outside to collect a battered and stinging Clint and deliver him back to the med bay.   
This time his request for a wheelchair was refused, both for his own safety and the stress levels of his friends, and Clint spent the next six weeks stuck in a hospital bed in the Common Room. No-one thought that Clint could injure himself while bedridden, but his exceptional skills surpassed all their expectations and he managed it anyway. He had apparently dropped the TV remote off the side of his bed and leaned over to retrieve it, overbalancing and nosediving gracefully onto the carpet. When everyone returned from training that afternoon, Clint was still lying in his bed watching TV, just as they had left him, but he now sported a black eye and several livid patches of weeping carpet burn on his forehead and chin. He didn’t look at all bothered by events, so everyone just sighed and mentioned nothing. It seemed that Clint would find a way to injure himself regardless of where he was or what he was doing, and they could not spend their entire lives preventing his disasters.  
This time once his plaster was removed, Clint did not head straight into the great outdoors. He had another target in mind. Thor had left Mjolnir on the edge of the coffee table and Clint spent several fruitless hours trying to push it off the edge onto the floor. Finally, it occurred to him that perhaps pulling the table out from under Mjolnir might be more successful than trying to move the hammer itself, and he assessed which angle of attack to pursue. As the hammer sat on the far side of the table, Clint stood on the opposite side and grabbed the two legs firmly and pulled. The table offered little resistance and he staggered backwards a few steps before setting it down to survey Mjolnir as it sat calmly on the floor. Deciding that he could move it from the rug if he took a running jump at it, he moved as far away as possible and launched towards it at a sprint. As he approached, he stretched both arms out in front of him to grab at the handle and use his fast-moving body weight to shift the hammer. His fingers closed tightly around the leather-bound handle and he could feel his momentum propelling him forwards, his arms stretching painfully for a moment before his grip was lost and he cannoned into the floor just past his target. Mjolnir hadn’t moved at all. Clint lay flat and groaned, mentally checking himself for injuries, and was surprised to find nothing more than minor carpet burns and some bruises on his knees. Not too bad after taking on a super-powerful alien weapon Clint told himself, now what else can I do today? Maybe just try to move it one more time? Can’t give up so easily, just try once more. Centuries earlier Thor had instructed Mjolnir to zap anyone who repeatedly tried to lift her, allowing anyone who wanted to test their worthiness a safe opportunity but repelling those who would try more determinedly to steal or possess her. Unfortunately for Clint, Thor had forgotten about this safety feature years ago, and Clint soon reached and crossed the line. A bolt of energy threw him back across the room, cracking the wooden frame of the lounge as he smacked into it, and singeing off his eyebrows and the front of his hair. Clint gasped for breath as he lay crumpled against the far wall of the room, wisps of smoke rising from his charred clothing. That had not gone as planned, but he’d been hurt worse, so he groaned his way to his feet and walked off to his room to lay down for a bit. The rest of the team entered the Common Room to see the coffee table moved, and Mjolnir sitting on the floor inside a burnt area of carpet. Soot covered the ceiling, and a blackened trail of drag marks showed Clint’s path through the lounge and into the wall. A weaving trail of sooty footprints moving in the direction of his room indicated his current position, and Thor went to check on his condition, returning with a smile and saying that Clint would be just fine. When he stopped and thought about it for a minute, Thor remembered the safety feature on Mjolnir and laughed, along with everyone else. “I mainly set it up to get Loki” Thor laughed “because he was always trying to test his worthiness and pick Mjolnir up. It was indeed hilarious to see him launched across the room unexpectedly whenever Mjolnir tired of his numerous attempts. I don’t believe he ever discovered that I was responsible for his misfortune.” Clint emerged in time for dinner, somewhat sunburned and singed, but otherwise happy and healthy. At least he didn’t need medical attention this time.  
Two days later the entire team had just been rescued from the frozen waters of a mountain lake after Clint had tried to land the Quinjet on the water at a shallow angle and skip it onto the beach like a stone, making him look immensely cool as it slid to a stop on the gravelly shore. What actually happened was that the nose of the jet dipped too deeply into the water and the craft flipped upside down, cartwheeling twice before sinking rapidly. Everyone aboard had escaped via the emergency exits and begun to swim towards shore in the painfully cold water, though Tony had quickly summoned a suit and picked them up and deposited them onto dry land. They all lay shivering, with muscles cramping and fingers throbbing, on the gravel, watching the bubbles surfacing from the sinking Quinjet.   
A sodden and freezing Bucky turned a cranky face towards Clint and scowled. “Well, that was fun, thanks so much Clint,” he said in a mocking tone as a shivering Clint returned his stare miserably.   
“So not fun. Definitely not fun.” Clint chattered through his teeth. “Why don’t you people stop me doing stupid shit like that? I need new friends”.   
“No, Barton, you don’t need new friends. What you need is a damn BABYSITTER. I’ll advise Coulson to send someone over. Maybe even ask for a whole team of minders.” The stern voice that came from behind him belonged to Nick Fury. “Now all of you get dry before I end up with an entire team of Man-Flu victims”. His gaze flicked to Natasha and she smiled slightly, knowing that he was not referring to her in any way. “I am getting too goddamn old for this.” Fury stalked away, shaking his head angrily. “What the hell did I do to deserve this bunch of idiots anyway?” He continued to mumble as he returned to his nearby car and drove away.   
Clint smiled over at Bucky and Natasha. “Do you think I can make him crack? Is it possible to actually break him?” His face was hopeful as he pursued his newest bad idea.  
“NO” came the firm answer from every person present. “Just no, Clint. We are your friends, and trust us this time, just NO.”


End file.
